TO THE SAME.
Bath, Feb. 26, 1812.
I heard so often that Betty acted ill the first night from mauvaise honte, that I was seduced to see him again to-night, and fell upon Alexander the Great, fancying I was going to see Tancred and Sigismunda. He certainly pleased me much better; and I shall not be surprised if the strength of his genius and intelligence conquers the impression made by his physical defects. At the same time, I shall regret it, for the ‘stock of harmless pleasure’ is much diminished when external grace is not united on the stage to superior talent: and if he is borne to the head of his profession, manœuvring will keep down all his competitors as long as my life lasts; and I shall be compelled to see as Hamlet, Romeo, and Coriolanus, a clumsy, short-necked, large-stomached hero, with a red dumpling as a face, an obstructed articulation, and an audible manner of recovering breath, like what one hears on board the packets. I foresee this is likely to be our fate, for he has great energy, pathos, and a complete conception of his part. In short, he has every mental, and wants every physical requisite. Lady —— is his great patroness, and I hope I never shall forget her manner of applauding, for it makes me laugh whenever it rises to my mind. It was not with her eyes, it was not with her hands; it was an undulating motion of her whole person, and all its appendages. In a pathetic part, the only time when a tear was forced from me, it was instantly dried as I turned my eye on her (it was ‘Said a tear to a smile’). I have tried to do it, but I want her activity.
At Lady Cosby’s affectionate request I sang at her house last Monday, and her thanks and praises were far above what my performance could deserve. I heard a lady behind me to-night say I sang quite in the style of Braham. It is of all others the style of which I should like to catch the least shadow. When I hear a lady sings like Catalani, I am always alarmed, for I dread anything approaching to her powers being let loose upon me without an equal proportion of her science and skill; and if it is a young untaught lady, who is ‘quite a natural genius,’ I am very anxious to run out of the room.
I hope you remember me affectionately to the kind friends you are surrounded with. You know how much I love many amongst them, and how completely the second circle in my heart (for the first contains but six souls) is filled by the friends and relations you have given me;—I will not say relatives; ‘relations’ was good enough for Milton and Thomson, and shall be good enough for me, spite of modern refinement. It is a word set in the gold of two of their best passages, and therefore I will not change it.
TO THE SAME.
Bath, March 1, 1812.
I passed Monday evening with an old friend, Mrs. Morgan, who has known me from the time I was six years old. She has a mind most pregnant and original, and a superior flow of conversation, but is not generally liked. She is so indifferent to common forms, visits only those she prefers and approves, never goes to assemblies, and is perhaps a little more candid than is necessary. Her lamentations over me at my having lost what, as Clarissa always says, ‘she was pleased to call’ ‘the prettiest and lightest figure she ever saw,’ were really entertaining, from their contrast to the fibs one is in the habit of hearing; adding, ‘Ah, my dear’ (for she has some Irish phraseology), ‘what a beautiful creature I remember you, and now, even your face is grown fat and broad. Well, you will always be delightful to listen to.’ I am very much obliged to her for remembering what she once thought me, but I had the weakness to feel a little involuntary melancholy. In spite of broad, Mrs. Morgan is a delightful woman, so delightful, that, though dressed to go to Mrs. Lemon’s, I sent an excuse, and spent the whole evening tête-à-tête with her. She illuminated the past for me, and gave me an infinity of anecdotes from the fountain-head, relative to Mrs. Bowdler (her intimate friend), that prodigy, Miss Smith, the Edgeworths, who live near her daughter, and other equally interesting people. Mr. Edgeworth’s present wife goes with all her children to the parish church, has introduced the Bible, and has added to the whole family the charm of religious feelings and principles.
Mrs. Williams will put some hundreds into King’s pocket, such crowds attend the rooms to see her dance. I have not ventured to go since she has performed; for you cannot get a place near enough to see her without going at eight o’clock. She has taught her husband to dance; he is always her vis-à-vis; and he said to an old maid whom he heard abusing her for exhibiting, as they call everything they cannot do themselves, ‘Ma’am, if you had a husband that liked you should dance as well as I do that Mrs. Williams should dance, I dare say you would do it too. She is my wife, and I hope she will dance as long as she is able.’ The consternation of the old maid was great. Certainly it is a foolish thing to be so anxious to see a woman perform, because she is a grandmother, whom nobody came particularly to see when she was sixteen years younger and a good many more pounds lighter; for she is very large; but the folly is in the spectators, not in her.